


Growing Spoons

by ko_drabbles



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Caretaking, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Disability, Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoon Theory, fibromyalgia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_drabbles/pseuds/ko_drabbles
Summary: It was a bad day. It was one of those days where he felt as if his legs were being ripped from his body, and all he could do was lay in bed. He couldn't even think about swinging his legs out of bed, let alone going to school.He really needed to learn to keep track of his spoons.





	1. Rusted Screws

The ringing from Kyoya’s fifth alarm clock rang throughout his bedroom, adding yet another layer of grating sound to the cacophony that attempted to get him up each morning. He knew Tachibana was dutifully waiting beyond the door, there to just _make sure_ he didn’t manage to sleep through them, and he’d often help him with some of his morning routine before school.

Objectively, he supposed the golden sun and jubilant birdsong streaming in from the skylight would give many the impression that it was a lovely day. However, he wasn’t under any such delusions. He’d been awake since before the first alarm rang, the sheets wound around his hands in a white-knuckled grip and face shoved into his pillow. It was annoying, how he either slept for twelve full hours or woke up so early. He blames the later on the pain, however; while awaking to the sensation of rusted screws twisting through his hips and knees wasn’t that unusual for him, it was never pleasant.

It wasn’t even like it really mattered how much sleep he got, anyway; he was constantly exhausted. He dragged himself up and kept going no matter how much he wanted to just lay in bed, because he had to. Just laying there, vegetating, wasn’t going to help him.

On days like this, however, he couldn’t even imagine getting up. Every small movement only increased the throbbing, stiff pain. It was like his joints were being soldered together, like iron girders. He couldn’t even roll over to turn off his alarms, even if the incessant beeping was almost maddening. He was trying to just… psych himself up for it, to manage through the flare of pain rolling over would inevitably cause.

His stomach was already rolling, nausea hitting him in waves. He never vomited, just felt like he would. It was strange how fucked up his body was, even if it was just a singular, underlying issue.

Fibromyalgia. He hated it, being so tired and in pain. It wasn’t even that its inconsistency was a saving grace; it just confused people. He could do something one day and find it impossible the next, and it was frustrating for everyone involved. Even if the teachers were told not to piss off the students, he could feel the doubt emanating off his gym instructor as he sat out of an activity, even if he was relying on his cane to move around.

It was embarrassing, in that vain and petty way that seems to bother people the most. He was a teenager who limped like an old man, relying on a walking stick. He was delicate and so fucking drained, and he couldn’t even figure out how to manage his spoons. He was in such a minority; most fibro suffers being female, which already put him in the ten percent, but also being so young. The average age when this issue flared up was _forty-five_ and he was only _seventeen_. It felt like it was impossible to just be a teenager, planning everything around fatigue and fluctuating symptoms and not even knowing if he’d be able to stand the next day.

Then, there were days like today, so close to unbearable, but he couldn’t make himself scream out. Because where was the dignity in that? Helplessly mewling any name that came to mind in the hopes that they’d… what? They couldn’t _do_ anything, and that was one of the most annoying parts of it. He wanted it all gone.

But it never would be. You _manage_ fibro, you can’t cure it. Not to mention that he was just plain awful at managing it. Spoons ran out too quickly, and he couldn’t tell how many he had left until there were none and he was dipping into the day after’s supply. He tried to do too much, all at once, because that was just how things got done.

“Kyoya? Are you awake?”

The door pushed open to reveal Tachibana’s silhouette, outlined by the light from the room beyond, and he could only wipe his damp face with his sleeve and try to seem more put together. After all, if Tachibana saw him crying, he’d worry and there was no point in that – he’d gotten through worse days. Still, the pain just felt so intense, and there was no way he could even get to the bathroom himself – even with his cane – let alone school.

“Oh, Kyoya…” He heard the man sigh, fingers combing gently through his hair, careful to avoid any knots, and the grating calamity was finally silenced, “It’s a bad day, isn’t it?”

At any other times, his reply would be sarcastic. He’d throw out some flippant comment and slowly – so, so slowly – push himself out from beneath the covers. Now, however, he couldn’t make himself think of one, his brain too foggy and the pain too intense. He just nodded, letting out a long, stuttered breath in the hopes of draining the tension from his shoulders, legs and hips. Tachibana just kept stroking his hair, trying to relax him, even just a little.

“Do you have any spoons?” Tachibana asked, “If you think you can manage going to school in your wheelchair, then you probably –”

“No,” He refused, voice far too close to a whimper for his liking. It wasn’t as if he’d even be able to concentrate in this state, and while it was good to show that he at least made the effort to go in, he… couldn’t. Not in the chair. His cane already got odd looks, but he could make it work; he could still be _intimidating_ and _powerful_ , but as some skinny, pathetic boy in a wheelchair?

It was stupid, really. To be concerned by something so ultimately meaningless. If someone didn’t take him seriously, then that was their loss. They’d soon pay for it – it was karmic retribution.

Tachibana seemed to take his refusal in stride, however, simply agreeing that perhaps he should stay home. What was the point in using spoons he just didn’t have?

“I’ll go call the school to let them know, and get your hot water bottles,” The older man informed, short nails dully scraping over his scalp. Hot water bottles helped, as did painkillers and topical creams and balms. His bedside table was covered in them, but they were just out of reach from where he currently was. He’d try moving in a minute, but for now he just squeezed his eyes shut, trying to go back to sleep.

It was all he could do on days like these, after all.


	2. The Pack Mule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamaki’s worrying over his friend, therefore the other hosts are worried about him; it’s not everyday you see the “king” pacing back and forth, chewing off his fingernails. Seems there’s only one person able to go check on mama…

Tamaki really was freaking out this time. They could all see it in the way he paced around the clubroom, chewing his usually perfectly manicured nails down to the nub. He was always… _on edge_ when a member of their little found family was sick, but it was rare that he was this worried. Takashi could understand why, given that Kyoya rarely missed school despite his condition, and had to be in a lot of pain.

It didn’t help that Kyoya had only managed to send a single, two-word text after a few lessons of Tamaki pulling his hair out. Just a simple, “no spoons”. No capitalisation, no punctuation. It wasn’t meant to be comprehensive, just an explanation as to why he wasn’t there so that Tamaki didn’t assume he was kidnapped and left dead in a remote ditch somewhere.

Takashi, while he felt bad for Kyoya… He almost expected it to happen soon. Perhaps not today, but Kyoya ran himself so ragged, constantly, that it was no wonder he didn’t have a single spoon. It was like in martial arts; you reserve energy for later, try and win as quickly as possible. The best fights don’t last an hour, they should take as little time as physically possible, and Kyoya was constantly fighting. Constantly exhausted, too, if the dark circles under his eyes, cutting stark through the milky pallor of his skin, were any indication. Even if he was hurting, Mori was glad he was at least taking today to rest.

“Boss, if you’re so worried then maybe you should just go,” Hikaru sighed, raking a hand through his hair, looking rather uncomfortable and out of his depth, “After all, you’re not going to charm anyone if you’re acting like you should be committed –”

Hikaru let out a grunt, cutting himself off, when Kaoru punched him in the arm. His lips pulled into a disgruntled pout, eyes narrowing on his brother, who carried on as if nothing happened; as per usual. Takashi only bit back the urge to roll his eyes, thinking through a list of possible actions they could take. As irritating as Hikaru could be, he did have a point; Tamaki stressing would only make things worse, as Kyoya would inevitably push himself to assure Tamaki he was fine – just tired – and end up making everything worse for himself.

So, who could go? Not Mitsukuni, he knew that much. Despite his love for his cousin, he remembered what it was like to be…. “cared for” by him when he last caught the flu. Honestly? He wouldn’t wish that experience on his worst enemy. It was rather annoying, if he was honest, that his **older** cousin couldn’t seem to do him the favour of acting his age while he was indisposed, but things were what they were.

“Should I go?” Kaoru asked, “Kyoya-senpai and I are friends after all, and I’d like to make sure he’s alright…”

“I think Kyoya-senpai would rather you stay here,” Haruhi chimed in, obviously in thought herself, “You and Hikaru are an act, and I think he’d prefer us to make as much profit as we can. It’ll take some stress off him when he goes back to budgeting again…”

“What about you, Haru-chan?” Mitsukuni piped up, his cheerful tone scraping uncomfortably against the tone of the room. While Haruhi was logical, and Mori honestly trusted her to take care of his junior, there was also the fact that they probably weren’t close enough for that. It’d just be awkward for both herself and Kyoya, probably. They got along just fine, but being so openly vulnerable in front of someone? That was different.

“I should probably stay too,” She shrugged, “I have a lot of customers booked today, so Kyoya-senpai would probably prefer it if I was here to do my job. Sooner I pay off the debt, the better, right?”

Not really, but Takashi couldn’t blame her for not noticing that.

“I can go,” He volunteered, surprising even himself with the offer. It wasn’t like he and Kyoya knew everything about each other, but they were friends. They shared comfortable silences, shoulder to shoulder as Kyoya completed whatever task he set out to do while he either read or kept an eye on Mitsukuni. He was, essentially, furniture, and so very few people would miss him for an afternoon.

“If you think Kyoya would be okay with it, Mori-senpai,” Tamaki nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He liked having a plan in mind, even if he wasn’t that organised most of the time. He was trustworthy, also; one of those people who always seemed to get the caretaker role – not that he minded – but he was the best choice.

He simply nodded in response, shouldering his satchel once more and turned to leave, only to be stopped by a tugging on his sleeve. Turning, Mitsukuni stood there, holding a plate of rich chocolate cake in one hand. Objectively, it looked delicious, if a bit sickly; covered in a thick layer of buttercream which drowned how fluffy the expensive cake should be. It looked like it was enough to glue someone’s mouth closed. In other words, he knew exactly what his cousin would say, and he disagreed.

“You should take this for Kyo-chan!” Honey chirped. He knew it.

Kneeling down to Honey’s level, like he’d do for a child, he took a deep breath. “Mitsukuni, Kyoya-kun doesn’t enjoy sweets,” He pointed out, “There wouldn’t be any point in taking him something so sickly…”

It didn’t seem like that completely worked, unfortunately. Mitsukuni’s eyes widened, and he had the slightest hint of a glassy sheen to them. Not teary, but still not great. So, it seemed like talking like adults was off the table for today, amazing.

“But cake always makes me feel better –” _Your experiences are not universal_ , “So Kyo-chan would like it, yes?”

Just taking it would probably be less work than dealing with him. Despite Mitsukuni being family and all, he couldn’t really be too bothered to put that much effort in at that moment. After all, he’d much rather go and make sure Kyoya was alright, rather than pandering to his cousin who honestly didn’t need it. He just nodded, accepting the cake and turning to leave, only to be stopped by Tamaki.

“Sorry, Mori-senpai,” He began, holding out a thick wad of paper, “Would you mind giving this to him? I did my best to get as much information down without using shorthand, so he’ll be able to use them…”

At least that was actually needed. He took the papers, neatly sliding the papers into the satchel, attempting not to bend or tear them. While he tended to accidentally crumple loose papers in his bag – the reason why he preferred binders and books – he knew that Kyoya would like the neatest copy possible. After all, they’d all seen how prettily he liked to keep his notes and reminders; bullet journals and the like crowded a few bookshelves, a pot plant or two adding a “splash of colour” to the admittedly minimalist room.

“Oh, Mori-senpai… Maybe you could give Kyoya this? For me?” Kaoru asked, handing him a large t-rex plush that he seemed to have scavenged from the back room. He couldn’t remember Mitsukuni having such a thing, but he supposed that after these few years, host club themes get a little hazy in your memory. 

It was soft in his hands, baby blue fabric fuzzy and intermittently patterned with green. A goofy looking thing, really. Its jaw was slightly crooked, felt teeth laying flat against its red gums and tongue, and its eyes almost looked crossed, despite being on the sides of its head. The body seemed to be decently sewn together, but it was just kind of… ugly and unnecessary. After all, it _was_ Kyoya, and the only one who had these “gifts”, who seemed to be remembering that, was surprisingly Tamaki. Still, he tucked the toy under his arm, not wanting to upset Kaoru and have Hikaru coming after him; it’d be easier to just get going.

Pushing open the doors to the music room, a sea of clientele almost swamped him, asking if he was going to see Kyoya and (horror of all horrors) if he could take these “very special”, handmade, get well soon cards to him. It was a sweet gesture, but he really wasn’t in the mood to carry all those ultimately meaningless things. Still, he accepted every one, shifting the heavy stacks around in his arms in an attempt to balance them all.

Luckily, the sea of fans parted, allowing him to walk through with a few nods of acknowledgement, making his way down the mostly abandoned halls and out of the front door… to remember that he and Mitsukuni walked to and from school. There wasn’t a car, and he didn’t really fancy calling one up for something ultimately small; knowing that the staff had actual tasks to complete without pandering to his whims.

Besides, there was a bus stop not too far down the road. He’d seen Haruhi use the bus before, and it seemed simple enough…

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda an introductory chapter, don't worry, we'll get to that sweet MoriKyo content soon. This is kinda a vent fic tbh, as... I might have fibro myself. I certainly have some sort of condition, anyway. I've been in bed Suffering for the past few days, so guess who's getting my shit dumped all over him, yay! I also suck at regulating my spoons.
> 
> But in all seriousness, I'm not officially diagnosed yet, it might not be fibro. If you see anything inaccurate in this fic then... that's why.


End file.
